


Mando'ade

by Kieranwritesfic



Series: The Lady of Mandalore [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Class Struggle, F/M, Prodigal Child OC, Virgin!Mando, let's just see where this goes, mentions of cultural genocide, religious differences?, this is star wars so also actual genocide, whoops i did it again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kieranwritesfic/pseuds/Kieranwritesfic
Summary: Someone has outed Atin Silva as being the heir of the Duchy of Mandalore. Danger lurks around every bend, and Imperial remnants as well as outright enemies of Mandalore are coming for her. Din Djarin, knowing she will need his help, journeys to the center of the galaxy to find her, help her. As the heat dies down in the Capital, it's just getting warmed up on the Razor Crest...
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Lady of Mandalore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593805
Comments: 102
Kudos: 120





	1. Disclosed

Mornings typically got straight to business for Legate Atin Silva. 0700 hours was a prompt wakeup, a cup of caf, and then straight to the senate house for breakfast meetings with the Policywriters’ Guild, where they would work for a few hours until the early afternoon meetings rolled around, during which she would run to some Senator’s office to discuss that same policy she had written that morning, then to lunch meetings to try to convince someone her next piece of insane leftist policy was definitely a good idea. After that, it was time to sit in on a session of the Senate to see what these ridiculous children were at now. Then it was possibly a dinner meeting, or a gala, or politics disguised as an art show. 

If she was lucky, and some days she was, she had the evening to herself, during which she would call Pietro and cram a few hours’ sparring, or possibly a dress fitting, or maybe--just maybe, nothing. Blissful nothing. During which, she would meditate, or read a trashy novel and feel bad for not meditating. 

It was looking like today might be one of those days. An evening with wine and meditating after a long day of being blissfully busy and productive. She woke up five minutes before her alarm went off, and laid comfortably curled into clean white sheets. Letting out a deep sigh, she closed her eyes again. 

The quiet presence all around her made itself known, and she leaned into it. She wasn’t sure how far she could get before the alarm went off, but she let herself sink into the presence anyway. Emotion flooded her, and she breathed herself through it. 

Fear, as the child on Concord Dawn, forced to run before the Empire came for her and her mother, their armor a twisted version of the design she knew so well. 

Anger, with a disruptor rifle in her hands in a city that was being torn apart by the very ground it sat on. 

Passion, standing before the Senate, arguing the right of all beings to have access to vaccines, to the Holonet, to professional healthcare. 

Lust, with her fingers knotted in Din Djarin’s hair in a dark ship, his hands hot against her skin--

Okay, that was enough playing with the Force now, she thought as heat flooded her cheeks. She huffed irritably as she put her hands over her face. The alarm went off, and she climbed out of bed, shutting it off with a pass of her hand. She grabbed a simple dress off the rack and hurried through the ’fresher, scrubbing down quickly with scalding hot water. 

Where were he and his unnamed foundling now? It was an unfathomably vast galaxy, full of unfathomably innumerate worlds. Maybe he would have found a companion by now, someone to make sure he had time to get clean under his armor-- _ whoop, stop thinking about under the armor, _ she reminded herself. 

His eyes haunted her as she dressed and styled her wild, dark hair. The depthless kindness in those dark eyes had shocked her to the point of tears. He was brutal, efficient, fearless as a fighter. But his touch, his voice, his face… he had the tenderness of a born father. 

The commlink on her nightstand rang. And rang. And rang. She sighed, didn’t anyone know better than to call her before 0800? 

“This had better be good,” she stated flatly when she answered it. 

_ “Oh, trust me, it is, _ ” came the voice. Coarse, but feminine. Equally comfortable telling someone off as passionately debating the most pressing issues affecting the Republic. 

“Leia?” 

_ “Have you seen the news yet?”  _

“Not yet.” 

Atin hurried over to the holocaster, flipping it on. Her blood ran cold, congealing in her veins. 

Someone had once told her that the secrecy of the Mandalorian people was their survival. So what was going to happen to them now? 

“Who outed me?” she demanded as she scanned the aurebesh headlines scrolling by underneath her official portrait. 

_ “Not sure yet. I’ve got people on it. Do you have anyone you’re sure you can trust right now?”  _

Atin considered, then sighed. “No one political.” 

_ “Lean into them anyway. You need all the friends you can get. I’m already getting phone calls.”  _

The cold expanse of space gave way to the arid, dusty atmosphere of Tatooine. The Mandalorian could almost feel the gritty dust in between the plates of his beskar armor. At his side was the Foundling child, chewing a metal knob to death. The two of them had been roaming around for months, hopping from job to job and world to world, trying to find any hint that there were still any sorcerers out there. Problem was, he was a Mandalorian, and any "jedi" worth their saber had probably learned better than to run around where Mandalorians were looking for them.

There was a calm, quiet hum in the more-or-less santized air of the Crest. 

"Hangar three-five."

"Thanks." 

He slowly, carefully piloted down to the surface. Hangar three-five... that was the one with the mechanic, wasn't it? Where that Toro Gascan orwhatever his name was had tried to pull a fast one? 

Sure enough, there she was, hands on her hips and droids cowering from his ship. 

"Well, well, well," she said as he walked down the gangway. "Doesn't appear to be too much damage." 

"Just need a fill-up," he said. He wasn't going to lie, he was pretty alright with seeing her. She furrowed her brows, examined him. 

And then the Foundling wandered down the gangway, and the hard look on her face melted away. 

"Oh, hey there little guy!" she called, and the child's ears perked. He waddled towards her, quiet and curious, and she bent down to pick him up. She held him at arms' length. "Is Mr. Mandalorian taking good care of you? Feeding you enough?" 

The child cooed happily. 

"You know, for an extra few credits, I'd be happy to watch him." 

The Mandalorian considered. 

"Fine," he said. "But I'm not going to pay you any more than 6,000 for the fuel or the sitting... and... my stance on droids has changed a little." 

She glared at him, then said, "Fine." 

"I'm going to the cantina. I'll be back in an hour." 

"Deal." 

He adjusted the strap of his rifle, and once he was sure that the Child was in good hands, he left quickly and quietly, before the little guy could notice. Tatooine would never change, at least he hoped it wouldn’t. For all the fact that it was a hive of scum and villainy, it was easy to navigate for a guy like him. No one minded him or his beskar. In Mos Eisley, he was just one more guy seen on another long, tiring day.

At the cantina, he walked up to the bar, and found the droid working it wiping out glasses. He leaned against the counter, looking around until the droid was ready to attend to him. 

“How can I serve you?” asked the droid. 

"I'm looking for work," he said. 

"There is no work for you right now, guild or otherwise. Slow week.” 

_"Right. Thanks anyway,_ " he said, setting a credit on the bar. 

He left. No work meant no work, and he wasn't about to test his luck out here again. When he got back to the hangar, he found the mechanic watching a holocaster with the child on her hip.

"Hey, Mandalorian, did you know about this?" she asked, bobbing her head toward the blue gleam. 

It was Atin. The news was currently being repeated in Rodian, which was one his problem languages, but the aurebesh was clear as day.  _ Last Mandalorian Alive: Heir to the Duchy of Mandalore In High Senate Position!  _

To see her was to remember those brief days a few months ago, and exactly what feelings she'd pulled out of him, the kindness she'd given him--and the other things, too. He had one instinct, now. 

_ Help.  _


	2. Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din Djarin calls in an old friend, who was not expecting today to get weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter features plot-convenient obedient child lmao

Cara Dune sat in stunned silence on the Razor Crest. She had a single raised eyebrow, and her eyes were as wide as they’d been in a long time. She was a hard woman to shock, but this was… well. 

Mando. Buddy. Din. She knew him by a few names. She could see his hair. A little gray. Longer than she expected. That was all she could see, and out of the corner of her eye. He’d asked her to turn around, and eventually they were leaning against each other’s backs. It was the familiar ease and comfort of warriors who’d fought, nearly died together. For her, it was a little new, but it was old hat for him. 

He carefully picked apart small pieces of rationpac meat for the kid, who burbled and cooed as he was handfed. 

“I heard… that kids had to see faces,” he said, which was the closest to an explanation she figured she would get as to how this had gotten started. “I don’t spend all day like this with him. Just… just mealtimes.” 

“No, absolutely. Good on you. Just… I could have gone up to the cockpit or something.” 

“No, no, it’s… look. I don’t want this getting out, but… I hadn’t known that the way my covert did things wasn’t the  _ only  _ way to do things. And maybe this is all going to blow up in my face, maybe this will get me kicked out for real, but… well. I... “

“You’re conflicted.” 

He nodded. 

“But you’re doing it for the kid.” 

It was easy to tell that he was very, very uncomfortable. “Well… kind of.” 

There was a slight rock as the ship transitioned out of hyperdrive. Cara’s hackles rose. She hadn’t been this close to civilization in years, and she felt like she was going to be incredibly obvious. Din picked up a wet cloth, wiped his hands, then pulled his gloves back on. His helmet went on next, and suddenly everything was less awkward. This was normal. 

“I still don’t know why you need my help,” she said as he picked up the kid and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. 

_ “Well, if anyone is left from my covert, they aren’t making contact yet. And I can’t go into this alone. I’ve never been to the core, and I need the backup.”  _

“You’ve never been to the core?” 

_ “No.”  _

“Well, good thing you brought me then,” she said. “Because you really will be out of your depth.” 

Once he looked out the cockpit window, what she said made sense. He stared at it for a long minute, as Hosnian Prime flight control called in. 

_ “Razor Crest, again, please declare destination or we will be forced to send in officers.” _

Cara reached for the commlink and picked it up. “Hi, yes, thank you Flight Control. We’re looking for clearance at…?” 

The Mandalorian had never seen a city that huge before. It easily occupied most of the dark side of this planet in glittering round webs, connected by sparkling highways that extended to the light side. How many people  _ lived  _ there? 

She looked at him expectantly. “Hey, country boy, let’s go.” 

He snapped to attention. “The Senate complex.” 

“The senate complex,” she said. There was a long pause. Cara began to get nervous, and so did Din, his fingers twitching near his pistol. 

_ “Oh, sure! Do you need an escort or valet service?”  _ asked the traffic controller. 

“No, thanks, that won’t be necessary,” she said. Din climbed into the pilot’s seat and took the controls. 

_ “Alright, you guys are in hangar 2244. Enjoy your stay in Republic City!” _

Coordinates appeared on the  _ Crest’s  _ nav screen. He set their course, and steered in. 

“You’re sure she’s here?” 

_ “Yes. She was headed to Nakadia the last time I saw her, and that was where the Senate was then.” _

“I can’t believe you know a senator.” 

_ “She’s a legate. Not sure what the difference is.”  _

“Beats me.”

He steered in. The Hosnian atmosphere was gentle, and piloting in was easy. The Foundling watched from Cara’s lap as the lights grew closer. You could hardly tell it was nighttime--how did anyone sleep? The buildings towered above the ground. The air hummed with life and electricity. It was unnerving. Speeders and hoverships glided in orderly lines as if they couldn't just GO where they needed to.

Hangar 224 was massive, and he glided in with no trouble. Once he’d landed, he turned to Cara. The hum of the engines dying down was barely noticeable over the roar of larger ship engines, clanging and clattering of tools, echoing throughout the massive cavernous space. The hull of the  _ Razor Crest  _ rumbled with the sound. 

Din grabbed the satchel off the hook on the wall, holding it open, and the Child climbed into it, landing in it with a flop. 

_ “Now you know the deal, right? Don’t make any noise until I tell you it’s okay, alright? And no peeking.”  _

The child made a strange gurgling noise, and this seemed to be enough for Din. “We’re going to have to leave the heavy weaponry here,” she said. “Core Worlders don’t typically wave around sniper rifles and heavy repeating blasters.” 

_ “I figured,”  _ Din said, climbing down from the cockpit. He packed a spare vibroknife in his belt and made sure his vambrace was loaded. Lowering the gangway, they were greeted by a helpful-looking technician accompanied by a protocol droid and an R6 unit. The technician held a datapad and smiled, then paused. 

“Oh, wow, are you a Mandalorian?” she asked him. 

_ “I am. Which way to the senate building?”  _

“You must be here for Lady Silva! Wild news for wild times, right? You’re in luck, there’s a gala happening tonight, actually, at the Hanging Gardens. You’re going to want to head east along avenue 44, that’s the one right here when you exit the hangar. Would you like me to hail you a ride?” 

_ “We’ll manage. The Hanging Gardens, you said?”  _

“Yes sir, Mr. Mandalorian. You’re sure you wouldn’t like a ride? First one out of the hangar is free, and--”

_ “No, thanks.” _

The technician paused for a minute, eyed their blasters, then shrugged. “Alright. Need a fill up?” 

_ “No.” _

“Have a good night then.” 

She turned and walked away, and Din and Cara turned and headed towards the elevators. They headed down to the ground level. God, there were a  _ lot  _ of people here, and they all seemed pretty eager to “help.” The child made a weird, strangled gurgling noise, and Mando looked at the bag. The tip of an ear appeared. 

_ “Hey, calm down in there,”  _ he said, tucking the ear away. 

The night air was cool and gentle, with a soft breeze flowing through the city streets. They passed the senate building, low and long, and only a single story. It was once they saw the hanging gardens that they realized they were being followed. 

“Pretty sure there are three of them.” 

_ “I’m counting five.”  _

“We’ve faced worse odds.”

Cara has seen impressive architecture before, but she had never seen anything quite like this. A massive sandstone pyramid made up of individual floors spilling over with blue flowers rose up from the street. The soft floral scent was dredging up memories she quickly buried--springtime on a world long dead, summer festivals, first kisses. Music and laughter trickled out. Mando turned to her. 

_ “Do you think we should bother with the door?” _

“Worth a shot.”

The sounds of boots came closer. 

“Hey Mando!”

“Maybe we should rethink the door,” she said. 

Both warriors turned to see a Zabrak and a human dressed in black. The others would have scattered, ready to shoot. Cara noticed vaguely that a few beings were taking the outside air on the patios of the gardens, and were beginning to catch on to what was going on. Someone was going to call security, and that was going to be a pain in the ass. 

_ “If we take the door, we can lose them inside. Doubtful that these guys would get in.”  _

“If they don’t, why would we?” 

_ “Sometimes, I appreciate your relentless optimism.”  _

They bolted. 

Darting into an alley, they heard boots after them--more than two sets, for sure. They heard blasters being primed, and made a sharp right around the corner. The avenues were long, straight thoroughfares with pretty little trees and nice little fixtures--shit cover, and worse hiding places. They ran for a long, low bazaar, where the stalls were all closed for the night, though fluorescent lighting still kept the place faintly illuminated. The swept-clean floor squeaked under their boots. Blaster fire pinged off a wall near them. They took cover behind a stall close to the center of the building. 

Mando opened the flap of the bag and looked at the child.  _ “You okay?”  _

He cooed. 

_ “Good. Stay down, keep doing what you’re doing.”  _

Cara watched the door, drawing her blaster. Adrenaline ran hot and silvery in her veins, making her twitchy and jumpy. She shot out the lights, so that whoever came in wouldn’t see it shining off of Mando’s beskar. 

“Exits?” 

Mando looked around, pressing a button on his vambrace.  _ “I’m seeing a few, but they’re going to take work to get to. We’re gonna have to shoot--” _

Blaster fire rang out, and the Zabrak fell. The human fell. He lifted his head, looked at the way they had come in. A green bolt flew out, someone else fell, they could hear the slump of his body hitting the ground. The others got the hell out of town. 

A woman appeared, rimmed in light. She was dressed in a long black dress, her hair bound into a loose braided bun. She was armed with a small Nabooian blaster. She aimed it into the bazaar, resting her shooting hand against her other arm. 

“Heard there was a shootout happening,” she called. Mando audibly sucked in a breath. Cara glanced at him. What exactly the hell was going on with him? “No one has a shootout on Hosnian Prime without me. Now state your business.” 

_ “Atin, _ ” he said, standing. 

She paused, lowered her blaster a little. There was a long moment, during which Cara considered firing on her just to be safe. 

“Come into the light,” she called. 

Mando raised his hands, and stepped into the streaks of streetlight cast on the bazaar floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I still have this playlist that I put together for this series if you guys are interested? https://open.spotify.com/playlist/22VSqhAFJ1gk2axOyTpo56?si=qiJc_Md8RXags1pfu8P2bw


	3. Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atin Silva doesn't seem the type to struggle to make friends, but Cara Dune is the exception to a lot of rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the first of much, MUCH Mando'a that I intend to add to this fic. Atin will start speaking it much more frequently. If you need a guide, here's the website I use: http://mandoa.org/

“Come into the light,” she called. 

Mando raised his hands, and stepped into the streaks of streetlight cast on the bazaar floor. It gleamed off his armor and the chain straps of Atin’s elaborate low-cut dress. Had he ever seen that much naked skin? He wasn’t sure, and he could  _ feel  _ the heat of his cheeks radiating through his helmet. His hand twitched, that itch to touch her back with a fury. It was like time hadn’t passed at all. She was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and it was distracting, catching him off guard. 

Atin gasped and nearly dropped her blaster, hurrying to tuck it into a holster hidden in the folds of her skirt. She struggled to speak, too many forbidden names caught on her tongue. She had to rifle through the list to find the right one. 

“MANDALORIAN!” 

She ran towards him, throwing her arms around his neck. He gripped her just as tightly, his beskar cold against her cheek and the exposed skin of her neck and chest. She was soft against his cuirass, and smelled just as he remembered, but with the added scent of those blue flowers, a spray of which were tucked into her complicated hairdo. The scent of blaster fire, engine grease, beskar and his own skin clung to him, and he hoped he didn’t actually  _ stink.  _

Atin took him by the sides of his helmet and pressed her forehead against his, vapor from the heat of her skin fogging it up. He lost his breath, and struggled to get it back. His mouth tingled with the memory of hers, though this Keldabe kiss felt no less intimate. 

“I’ve missed you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She snorted, sniffed, and tried to get herself under control. Tears sparkled in her green eyes. Holding her hands out flat, getting herself together, she said, “Enough of this bantha shit. Where’s my baby?” 

_ “He’s… hanging around.”  _

Atin glanced at the bag, saw the faintest wiggle, and smiled. “Clever.”

Then she turned her attention to the other warrior. Cara was a lot to take in, and Atin nervously folded her hands in front of herself. Was this nervousness? Or self-consciousness? 

_ “Atin, this is Cara Dune. Cara, this is Atin Silva.” _

Atin held out her hand, clearly unsure of how the gesture would come across. “Pleased to meet you, Cara Dune,” she said with a smile. 

“Charmed, now can we get out of here?” the woman said impatiently. He winced, and was grateful for the helmet. 

“Right, yes,” Atin said with a nod. “I’ll hail a transport. Why didn’t you guys call for one at the hangar?” 

_ “Seemed… unwise,”  _ he said.  _ “I know transports in the Outer Rim. I don’t know Core transport drivers. Plus, we were shooting for secrecy.” _

Atin rolled her eyes. “That went great. Just so you know, a quarter of the senate saw you guys out there. Let’s go.” 

They followed her back to the Hanging Gardens, and in the light, it was easier to fully appreciate how much skin Atin was showing in that deep-cut black dress. Din was reminded of the dress she’d worn during their first meeting. His face was hot. 

“Lemme guess,” Cara said quietly as Atin spoke to the droid up front. “Another pretty woman you won’t take the helmet off for?”

After a moment’s consideration, he said,  _ “She’s seen me without it.”  _

Cara’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?”

He nodded. 

  
  


Atin’s flat was located in a long, elegant spire of a skyscraper. The halls were gorgeous, the soft golden light of the lamps glinting off his beskar steel. The only sound in them was the clanking of Din’s beskar and the rattle of their weapons, matched with smooth, quiet music. Atin made almost no sound, her shoes silent on the plush carpeted floor. She pulled a commlink out of… somewhere, and pressed the button as she also hailed the elevator. 

“Jan, close the curtains and break out the good towels. Order the special from Jionno’s and call in a bottle of… whatever Ms. Dune drinks?” Atin said, turning to Cara. 

Din looked at her too. Cara raised her eyebrows, did that thing she did with her mouth that wasn’t quite a smile, and said, “I’m not picky.”

“Wine?” 

“Wine will do.” 

“And a bottle of the good red. And a  _ lot  _ of rolls.”

It seemed like everything was at the push of a button around here. When the elevator doors opened--nearly silently--they followed her inside. She hit another button. The Foundling began to fuss, and grow antsy inside the bag. 

_ “Hush, we’re almost there, _ ” Din said to him.  _ “Once we are, she’s all yours.”  _

“Oh, I’m going to spoil him rotten,” she said with a smile. She was shaking, holding her arms close to her chest. 

_ “He could use it.”  _

When the elevator doors opened, Din once again was struck by what an alien world he was really in. The ceiling was very,  _ very  _ high up, and one whole wall of the place was made up of windows that were covered in thick red curtains. The light fixtures were elegant and simple and gave off more of that soft golden light. The Child began to squirm, and then let out a single long, piercing shriek. Atin dashed over, opened the bag, and picked him up, and the child practically clung to her. 

“Oh!” she gasped, holding him tight against her breast. “Oh, oh, shh-shh-shh, it’s okay, it’s alright, I’m here,” she said, smoothing his ears. He clung to the edge of her dress’s neckline, and Din looked away. Cara was giving him this  _ look _ that made him want to punch her. 

“Oh, my  _ cyar’ika,  _ my little darling, there there.”

The Foundling smeared his face all over her chest, like he often did against Din, and made little calm cooing noises. Atin walked over to the couch, and sat with the child cradled in her lap, the train of her dress swirling around her feet. “Do you have a name yet?” she asked. 

A droid appeared. Din’s hand flew to his holster, but paused. Atin looked up. “J4-4N, stop.”

The droid stopped. It was a pot-bellied droid with long ears and arms. It was among the most helpless-looking things Din had ever seen, and just like everything else in this soft part of space, he was fairly certain he’d break it. 

“She’s just a servant droid, completely harmless. Jan, if you’re done, please go to your docking station.”

“Of course, ma’am.” 

The droid turned and walked away. Din relaxed his hand. 

Holding the baby slung on her hip, Atin walked over to a desk, pulled it away from the wall. She grabbed a wall divider and opened it, and via some simple magic similar to the sling she used for the child, a table appeared from other pieces of furniture. 

“I’m not sure if you can tell, I’ve got a lot of vertical space but not so much floor space,” she said. “Dinner will be here any minute, in the meantime, the ‘fresher’s down there, fridge is there if you can’t wait to eat food that didn’t come wrapped in plastic, bedrooms are on the left hand side of the hall--there are three of them--and the nursery is the first door on that side,” she added to Din. “My home is yours. Take whatever you need.” 

There was a knock at the door, and both Din and Cara started. Atin rolled her eyes. She settled everyone around the table, except for Din, whom she sat at the desk with the divider in front of it. She did so as if this was a perfectly natural, reasonable thing to do, and not at all an act of respect that reminded Din exactly why he had come here at all. While the child hung on her shoulder, she dished a huge bowl of thick stew for him, handed it over with a pile of rolls, and sent him on his way. 

She poured a glass of wine for Cara, who accepted it gratefully, and he listened as Atin told Cara a little bit about herself. Cara was sizing her up, he knew she was, it was her way of making friends. He knew that Cara had probably been pretty confused on seeing that the Mandalorian they had come for was a pretty little politician in a ball gown. 

“So, not that I’m not thrilled to see you or anything, but uh,” began Atin with a mouthful of bread. He heard the child eating loudly and gurgling happily. “What are you guys doing in this neck of the woods?” 

Her speech had slowly been slipping from the more formal, eloquent speech of the Core to the relaxed slang of the Outer Rim. 

“We came for you,” said Cara as she was served. “Mando was concerned you would be in danger now that news has gotten out about who you were. Are.” 

“She  _ is  _ in danger,” he called. 

There was a pause. He got the sense that looks were being exchanged, and it was only confirmed when he heard the smile in Atin’s voice. Cara tucked in, eating quietly but quickly. Din pulled off his gloves--the smell of the leather was interrupting the smell of the stew. It was good, heavy and rich. It had actual flavor, unlike a rationpac, which was nice. And not just the charred flavor of a freshly hunted kill roasted over a fire. It was spicy--could have been spicer. 

“Senator Organa has suggested I get out of town, but… well, I kind of can’t right now. I mean, I could, but… God, this is going to sound dumb to you guys. Listen, okay, I have a piece of legislation coming up for a vote soon and I can’t leave until it’s over. It would be like sending a gun to a shootout alone.”

“Who ratted you out?” Cara asked. 

“I don’t know. Din, do you want hot sauce?” 

“Yes.” 

After a few seconds, her hand appeared with a bright red bottle in it, and he took it, making sure to brush her fingers so she knew he had it, but also because he very, very desperately wanted to touch her with his bare hand. She was looking away, but her breath hitched. 

“Is that a Mandalorian thing?” Cara asked. 

“Yeah. Spiciness is one of the most highly-valued flavors in traditional Mandalorian cooking.”

He handed the hot sauce back, and Atin disappeared. “Things have been… hectic, but then again, it’s always hectic for me, so I guess I can’t say things have changed. I’ve gotten correspondence from the Elder Houses, which was wild. And,” she paused, sitting down and serving the Child more stew. “Well… my legislation has been getting a lot more attention.”

“How did they find out?” 

“I have no idea. They must have access to some kind of records. The original records of my birth on both Mandalore and Concordia should have been destroyed in the Great Purge, but whoever it was may have had access to Imperial records.”

Din paused. “Your birth was in the Imperial records?” 

Atin was quiet for a long minute. 

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I… may or may not have spent a minute in an Imperial Academy.” 

Cara dropped her spoon. The only sound in the room was the sound of the Child, who was picking up on the thought that something was going wrong. 

“I was captured. I was just a kid. They sent me to an Imperial Medical Academy,” she said. The shame was thick in her voice. “I was a little kid. I didn’t have a choice. I managed to get away, to meet up with the Rebellion, and they got me back with my mother. But I was in the system nonetheless. This… was prior to the official decision to eradicate us.” 

Din listened carefully, hand on his helmet, poised to move, to step in. Neither woman moved. The child began to fuss, but Atin picked him up and cooed to him, and he calmed down. 

After a minute, Cara began eating again, and said, “This soup is crazy good.” 

“Isn’t it? If you guys stay in town a few days, there is a place that makes a mean  _ tiingilar. _ Tastes just like home.” 

“Is that spicy too?” 

“Um… it tastes like what you would imagine burning coaxium to taste like.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atin is wearing a dress a lot like this: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a4/Madame_X_%28Madame_Pierre_Gautreau%29%2C_John_Singer_Sargent%2C_1884_%28unfree_frame_crop%29.jpg  
> Pretty alarming for a dude who literally doesn't even take his hat off in front of strangers.


	4. Distracted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment alone...

Din woke up with a sudden start. He looked around. He’d fallen asleep on the couch in the nursery. The child was snoring in the little cot that Atin had set up for him, his ears moving in his dreams. He sat up. Something was… off. 

Opening the door and listening, he heard pouring sounds. From his position, he could see Atin cross from the kitchen to the sitting room with a glass in her hand. Cara was asleep in the guest room, the door open so she didn’t feel confined. 

He snagged his cape and draped it over his head like a hood. It was dark in the apartment, but Atin had cracked the curtains to see out into the city night. Walking out, he knew he was nearly silent, and tried to work out how he was going to avoid startling her. He made an active effort not to be completely silent as he stepped out of the hall. 

When he found her, she had slipped a painting aside to a hidden cache in the wall, where behind a glass wall sat a woman’s beskar helmet, painted black and blue and dingy with wear and tear, like his own armor. Soft golden light shined on it. She sighed heavily, turned off the light. 

“I’m glad I had that put in,” she said to him as she moved the painting and pointed at it, walking away. “Suddenly feels a little dangerous to have that out.”

Atin sat in the corner of the couch, a glass of wine curled against her chest. Her hair was tied in a loose, messy knot at the back of her head, and she wore a soft, draping nightgown. Here in the city, she seemed to be all softness and skin, the kind of elegance most in the Outer Rim couldn’t afford to have. 

“I didn’t wake you, did I, Loth-cat?” she asked. 

“I was already awake,” he lied. His belly fluttered at the nickname. 

She nodded, sipped her wine. Her hand was trembling. He walked over to the couch, sat down in the opposite corner, draped his arm over the back. “You alright?” 

Atin took a deep breath. “Not really.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Um…” 

And then she sighed, heavily and deeply, rubbing the side of her face. “Listen. I’m not sure I made it clear last time… but I’m a bit like the Foundling. I can do some of the same things he can do.”

Din furrowed his brow. “You mean… moving things?” 

She smiled a little. “Well, yes, among other things.” 

“You didn’t mention it.” 

“Well, it didn’t exactly come up. But also… it’s gotten stronger in the last few months. I’ve been working with it. Meditating.”

“You can… do that? Train it?” 

“I can. Many who use the power can. The Jedi could.”

“Are… you…?” 

She didn’t look like a sorcerer, but then again, neither did the child, and he wasn’t any kind of expert anyway. The last few months had brought him precious little progress in finding out what an enemy sorcerer actually looked like. 

“A Jedi? No. The Jedis that I’ve met are usually… pretty repulsed by me. Because the way I use--it’s called the Force. The way I use it is usually used by… bad Jedi. We called them  _ dar’jetii.  _ Usually, they’re called the Sith.”

“I don’t understand the difference.”

“Jedi use discipline and compassion as a frame through which they use their abilities. The Sith use powerful emotions like anger, fear, and passion. But that is… a RADICAL oversimplification. Anyway, the child built a… connection with me. I felt it over dinner. He managed to make it strong enough that… that I could see his dreams. I could feel his…”

Atin paused. Took a breath. 

“Din, where did you find him?”

Din was silent for a long moment. “It’s complicated. And.. telling you would require admitting some things I’m not proud of.”

He and Atin sat in the darkness with their thoughts thick between them. Neither knew, but both hoped, that memories of the last time they’d sat in the darkness together were inside the other person. The taste of each other’s lips lingered. Both, at separate times and without the other noticing, touched their mouths, just a brush of fingers against lips. 

“He loves you,” Atin finally said. “He…  _ God,  _ Din, he loves you so much. You have  _ no  _ idea what you saved him from,” she went on. Her voice snapped in half, and tears sparkled down her cheeks. “The things he’s seen…”

Din’s chest ached. 

“Teah, well. Love doesn’t keep him fed.” 

Atin looked at him. 

“Love doesn’t put fuel in the Razor Crest, or keep him safe from Imps. Love won’t find the Jedi, where he belongs. Love isn’t exactly enough.” 

Atin scooted closer to him. He didn’t reach out for her. Bitterness clenched his fist. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. He could see the heartbreak on her face. 

“Love made sure there was a cot for him to sleep in,” she said quietly. “I’m grateful for that. Grateful someone’s getting some use out of it.”

Of course. That bed had once belonged to another child. Atin’s arms had once held a child that was her own. 

“What was his name?” he asked. “Your son’s.” 

Atin smiled. “Alor.” 

He looked at her. “Presumptuous much?” 

“I didn’t think there were a whole lot of Mandalorians left to tell me off,” she said bashfully. 

Desperate for the subject to change, he reached up, and she sat still as he stroked the top of her cheek with his thumb. She closed her eyes, furrowed her brow, struggled against the urge to lean into his touch. “I know… you feel like it’s not enough,” she said. “But… it is. It’s more than you know. He trusts you. He knows you’ll care for him.”

“I can care for you too.” 

Atin’s breath hitched. She looked at him, and for a second he thought maybe she might have been tempted. He leaned towards her, rested his arm against his knee. “Come with us. It’s not safe here. Someone’s outed you. Someone who wants you dead. Leave with me. I can protect you. I’ll go back to the Guild, and take bounties if we need it. I’ll teach you to pilot the Crest.” 

She smiled. “Are you asking me to run away with you, Mr. Mandalorian?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t. Not yet. I have so much work to do,” she said. “This galaxy is in chaos, and even now, even though things are better, the senate is still full of squabbling senators who are pushing their own self-interest.”

“You can’t fix the Galaxy if you’re  _ dead _ , Atin,” he returned, his voice urgent. “Please. Don’t make me watch you get shot or blown up for these soft, vain people.” 

She took his hand in both of hers, laid it flat and studied the lines of his palm. Could she feel the pounding of his heart? The heat of him, the blood rushing to the surface? “If you think it’s for them… you have a lot to learn about me. Besides,” she added with a rueful twist of her mouth. “Your girlfriend might have something to say about that.”

“My… Cara? No, that’s not--Cara is my friend. Just my friend.” 

Atin looked at him. “She… oh.  _ Oh.  _ So you… I mean, I don’t want to… I mean, I do… want...”

A long silence filled the room. He wanted to encourage her to tell him what she wanted. But he missed the chance. 

“Well! This has been fun and awkward, but we really have to get to bed. It’s uh… pretty late.” 

She stood up, downed her wine, set the glass on the table. Din caught her by the hand as she turned. His pulse was pounding. His hands trembled. She looked back at him. Blinked. Once. Twice. She took a breath. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked. 

Well, here he was. He had her. What the hell did he do with her? It had seemed so easy before, in the dark. Atin turned, knotted her fingers in his. She looked at the cape, still draped like a hood over his head. “Can I…?”

“Yes,” he breathed. 

“You’re sure?”

He lifted his other hand and pulled the hood off, and when their eyes met fully in the dim light of the city night, Din swore he could feel something actually  _ click.  _ Something suddenly made sense in a way that it hadn’t just a moment ago. He leaned in, touched her cheek, and just as his lips began to brush hers, just as she was touching him back, just as the distance between them was gone--the child cried out. 

Atin gasped, winced. “You’d… better go. He needs you.” 

Din, his chest heaving though he hadn’t done anything at all, said, “Yeah,” and left. 


	5. Disquieted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atin's newest piece of legislation might be her last...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is six pages long in Docs lmao

Din woke up to the sounds of hurried activity, and Atin speaking quickly. Cara was speaking too. 

_ “You can’t go, it’s not safe,”  _ she said.  _ “He’s not going to like this.” _

_ “I don’t have a choice!”  _ Atin answered.  _ “You wouldn’t send a gun to a shootout by itself.”  _

When he looked in the cot, he saw the child wasn’t there and the door was slightly ajar. He sighed. When he emerged, fully armored and armed, he found the child sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by snack crackers, which he was very deliberately smashing, much to the dismay of the vacc droid standing by. 

Atin was wearing the black dress he’d first seen her in, and was applying lipstick in a shade of red that looked alarmingly like blood, making kissy faces at herself in a small mirror. A holodisc was buzzing unceasingly, making its way across the countertop in the kitchen. She pressed the button, and a twi’lek appeared, holding a datapad. 

“How bad is it?” Atin asked as she rifled through a bag. 

_ “Um.. it’s been worse,”  _ said the twi’lek. _ “Senator Ardor has been speaking for the past 20 minutes and has managed to say at least three things about you that I would classify as being crazy nasty.”  _

Atin sighed heavily. 

_ “Senator Organa is backing you up. So is Tash Valorum. So maybe get down here?”  _

“I’m working on it,” she said. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes, do not let that old greaseball get away with anything, write it  _ all  _ down, and order flowers for the Senators.”

_ “Will do.”  _

The holo shut down. Cara looked at him. “Are you going to do anything about this?” she asked him. 

He tipped his head.  _ “Like what? Have you ever had much success in getting a Mandalorian to stop doing something stupid?”  _

A brief insanity washed over Din where he considered just knocking Atin out, but that wouldn’t work and he knew it. She’d just go feral. She was heading out the door, and he knew he had  _ one  _ thing in his arsenal that might stop her.

_ “Atin,”  _ he called.  _ “Please.”  _

She froze, her hand on the door panel. Her head dropped, her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. Cara was staring at him with her eyebrows in her hairline. He tried not to punch her. 

_ “This is a trap and you know it. They’re trying to draw you out. You know I can’t follow you, can’t keep you safe. If something happens, you’re on your own there.”  _

She turned. Without looking at him, she said, “Jan, turn on the Holonet to the Senate broadcast.”

_ “Yes, ma’am.”  _

A holocaster turned on, projecting a man in a long white robe with a ridiculously elaborate collar. He was going on and on in flowery language that sounded deceptively complementary but was actively condescending. 

“I can’t trust anyone else with this bill,” she said. There’s a reason he’s forcing a presentation today, so close to the news coming out. .”

_ “Is it worth risking your life for?”  _

“YES. Yes, and yes, and yes again, a hundred times over.” 

Din sighed.  _ “Then one of us goes with you.” _

“No.”

It was a flat, hard no, one that actually took Din by surprise. 

She went on, “If things go sideways and I’m killed, you two take whatever you need out of here and run. Rob the nursery. Get back to the  _ Razor Crest  _ and head to the most barren, desolate rock you can find and lay low for a while.”

“What if it goes sideways and you  _ don’t  _ get killed?” asked Cara.

Atin pointed at her, impressed. “Yes. That. If that happens, I’ll need you guys to grab the gray bag in my room and I’ll meet you at the hangar,” she said. “Hanger 224?”

_ “224.” _

She nodded.

  
  


Cara raided Atin’s cupboards for snacks while Din paced. The child had begun torturing the vacc droid, chasing after it and hunting it like the critters on Sorgan and Arvala-7. 

“So that language she’s been speaking, is that Mandalorian?” Cara asked. 

_ “Yes.” _

“I’m not going to feel excluded if you guys speak it together.”

_ “I… I’m not nearly as good at it as she is.” _

Cara raised an eyebrow. “You don’t speak your girlfriend’s love language?” 

Din burned under his helmet. He was pretty sure that if he responded to her teases,she would only keep it up and go harder. 

_ “She keeps it fresh. She writes her notes in it. I have to remember a lot more languages than she does, as well.” _

Cara raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Ah. And you’re embarrassed.”

He sighed. 

_ “Can we talk about this later? Or not at all?”  _

On the holocaster, there was a ruckus, and then the projector changed views to show Atin fiddling around on a datapad. She looked around at a fuzzy senate that was full of a thousand or more senators. 

_ “Can you all hear me alright? Yes, I know, Senator Organa, I’m going to keep asking it anyway. We’re all good? Okay. Hi, everyone. For those of you that don’t know me, as if I haven’t been pounding on your office doors for three years, I’m Atin Silva. I’m a legate. I’m a liberal nutjob. I guess I’m also technically the Duchess of Mandalore, which, great. How’s it going, being Princess of Alderaan, Leia? She gave me permission to tell that joke.”  _

Cara snorted a very grim chuckle. “I can see why you’re into her.” 

Din sat down on the edge of the couch, his fingers folding together, then unfolding them. He sat with his spine rifle-straight.

_ “Listen, you’ve all heard the rumors about what I’ve had in the works for a while now, so let’s just cut to the chase and get it out there.”  _

Faint bleeping noises could be heard as the little blue Atin pressed buttons on her datapad. There was a long moment of silence as the message disseminated. 

And then the senate floor came alive with chatter. Shocked gasps and whispers murmured to pod-mates rumbled like a river as Atin looked over it all with her hand in her pocket, waiting for the First Senator to call order. Once she did so, Atin nodded to her, then looked over the floor. 

_ “Many of us fought in the Outer Rim territories during the war. I remember what I saw, folks, and it wasn’t pretty. Twi’lek girls being bought and sold at Hutt auctions. Children as young as five years old working full days in the hot Tatooine sun while their masters oversaw. Old scavvers forced to work for meager quarter rations on Jakku. This is the reality for uncountable trillions of beings in OUR galaxy. Beings of the Galactic Senate, I speak, of course, of slavery.” _

Cara’s eyebrows were somewhere on the ceiling. “That crazy bitch.” 

Din’s heart began to pound in his chest, a drumbeat that made his fingers flex. He felt sick, his stomach rolling in his gut. She’d just painted herself as a huge target. He could think of at least ten crime syndicates that would love to have her head on their wall right about now. 

That camtono of beskar occurred to him. He’d handed it to the Armorer when he’d last seen her, and he knew it was sitting, waiting, as he’d asked, aside for what was needed for foundlings. 

_ “We claim to be better than the Empire. We claim to be better than the first republic--” _

_ “Legate Silva!”  _

The projector panned to the same old man as before. Din considered punching him. 

_ “Your Mandalorian ancestors practiced slavery. To stand here and demand change when your people were among the worst--” _

_ “Wow, that’s--” _

_ “Forcing millions to submit to the will of Mandalore and swear your oaths--” _

_ “Well, it’s a good thing we’re all dead, then,”  _ said Atin, her voice flat and final. She held her chin high. Din’s chest was beginning to ache from the beat of his own heart against his ribs. The silence in the senate house was deafening. Din could feel the ringing in his own ears. Cara had leaned forward, her eyebrows returning and furrowing over her eyes. 

_ “Do you have anymore immaterial points, Senator Ardor, or may I go on?”  _

The child had wandered over with a stuffed bantha from the nursery in his hands. He held his arm up for Din, a command he had learned to heed almost without thought. He cradled the child close against his breastplate. The little thing studied the bantha carefully, before trying to shove the shiny eyes in his mouth. 

_ “Yes, my people committed treasons against many good and honorable things. So did a lot of our peoples. I’m standing here today asking you to consider a change for the future. To consider a way forward separated from the old ways. I’m asking you all to do the right thing.” _

A blaster shot rang out, and both warriors in the plush living room stood up. Din’s heart did not beat for a very long time, until in the pod, Atin could be seen hunkered down in her pod as it slowly hovered back down to its’ place on the wall. Senators and security flooded the area, until a security guard who appeared to be in charge appeared and hunched over her, escorting her to safety. The holofeed cut out. 

Din couldn’t move. 

Cara said, “I’m going to get that bag, you get what you need.”

Din nodded. 

From the nursery--what was a guy like him, decked out head-to-toe in beskar armor, doing standing in a nursery?--he grabbed a few changes of clothes for the kid, a couple of toys, and a new blanket. 

“You hold the kid, I’ll cover you,” Cara said as she walked out the front door with Atin’s bag on her shoulder. 

Quickly, they exited the building, resisting the urge to draw their blasters to survey the area. They had no need to, and it would just make them even more conspicuous. The walk to the  _ Razor Crest  _ was stressful. People had filled the streets and there was quite a lot of milling about and talking about what had happened in the senate house. 

_ “Shot the legate!”  _

_ “...Crazy if she thinks this anti-slaver legislation is going to pass.” _

_ “What even  _ is _ a Mandalorian?” _

Din’s nerves grew even thinner as they approached the hangar. Cara was right behind him, keeping her hand near her blaster as he kept his near his own. The child was looking around, being  _ noticed  _ by too many people in his arm. His armor shined in the sun, even blinding someone as they walked by. 

“Din,” barked Cara as a landspeeder glided smoothly up beside them. 

“Get in!” shouted Atin, a gaberwool cloak over her head. 

The pilot, the security guard from the senate floor, kept the speeder at a slow drift for them until they were safely inside, then punched it, going as fast as he could down the wide avenues. 

“Way to take your time,” she said with a grin, turning and looking at them. 

_ “Did they find the shooter?”  _ he asked. 

“Yeah, Atin shot him on the way out,” said the security guard. “With a dinky little security blaster too. Still the best shot in the parsec. Even if she can’t throw a punch worth a damn.” 

He was in his mid-30s, with gleaming teeth and eyes that looked like trouble. He reminded Din of every hotheaded young man he’d ever seen, and even the one he’d been at one point. 

“He was a Zabrak sharpshooter. Send me the report as soon as the police have it,” Atin added. “He looked syndicate.”

“I imagine you’ll be dealing with that a lot pretty soon. Where will you go?” 

“Probably have him drop me on Tattooine.”

“Hutt territory?” 

Atin was flipping through a small datapad’s register. She was looking for something, but the writing was in written Mandalorian, which he’d never been great with. “Republic law doesn’t touch hutts and never has. They won’t be intimidated by me.” 

“What are you guys riding?” 

“ _ Razor Crest, _ 224.” 

“A  _ Razor Crest?  _ Seriously?”

Atin stared knives at the man. The baby cooed excitedly to see her, and she turned to smile at him. She also looked into Din’s visor, and winked. He wanted to feel relief, she was safe, but instead all he could think about was how she was looking at his face, scanning him as easily and thoughtlessly as anything. 

“Yes. A perfectly respectable Razor Crest. We’re heading to the Outer Rim, not Corellia.” 

“Look, all I’m saying was that if you did happen to pass by Corellia…”

“Purely out of spite, we won’t. In fact, I’m never going to Corellia again.”

Once they entered the hangar, Atin started to get up before the guard had parked. Once he had eased off the engines, he stood too, and offered Cara his hand to help her get up. Cara gave him a look as she hopped out, and he nodded, recognizing that he was ridiculous. 

“Habit,” he said by way of apology. Din climbed out of the speeder and hit a button on his vambrace to open the Crest’s gangway. The sound of busy repairs and shouted orders filled the massive hangar. He handed the child to Cara, who carried him inside so that she could get settled. 

When the younger man saw the  _ Razor Crest,  _ he raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? Atin, this thing doesn’t even look like it will make it out of orbit.” 

Atin rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Axotl. I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, our 1500 is canceled.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. She stood in front of him, smiling. “You saved my life today. Thank you.” 

“I get paid to,” he said. “More than you do, so. Keep that in mind, Mando.”

Din, who was used to being called that, turned his head, but looked away and walked up the ramp into the Crest to start the engine. He was nearly inside, when he heard the man speak. 

“Hey, Mandalorian!” 

He turned. There it was.  _ That  _ was him. 

“Keep her safe.”

Atin’s eyes took on a guilty cast. Din nodded. 

They embraced each other, kissed on the cheeks, and Atin boarded. Once everyone was on board, Din closed the hatches, and flew off into the blue skies, with a knot in his gut he’d never actually felt before. 


	6. Destroyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din takes a trip back to one of the worst days of Atin's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me be clear that the terrible Mandalorian you are about to read was composed while ctrl+f'ing on one hand and holding squirming infant on the other. Bo-katan would be proud of me. 
> 
> Also, small warning, this chapter includes when they take Atin's cuirass, which I'm worried could be a little bit triggering for some people. I kept it brief, but if it's an issue, you won't miss much if you stop reading after the order to take the beskar is given.

He was going to get them all killed if he could not get these thoughts under control. Step one was to acknowledge them, but he was not about to try to put a name to those things that boiled inside him, that made him want to shoot things until they were paste on the ground. 

The child appeared, and Din bent down to pick him up, perching him carefully on his lap. The little thing looked up at him, blinked with his huge brown eyes, and tipped his head to the side, his wide ears at what Din had started to think of as middle stance--curious, but concerned. 

_ “What? You worried about me? Don’t bother. I’m fine.”  _

“Eh?” 

_ “Promise.”  _

“Ab-bab-bppppbtbtbtbbt,” the child announced solemnly. 

_ “That’s terrible advice. The exact advice I would expect from a 50-year-old womp rat like you,”  _ he said, petting his ears.  _ “Shouldn’t you be attached to her right about now?” _

He thought about making a joke about how Atin was his favorite parent, but it stung a bit, so he avoided it. Instead, he focused on the next step. She’d told that guy she was going to Tatooine-- _ do not think about him or when he touched her-- _ and maybe that wasn’t a bad idea. Tatooine was the proper middle of nowhere. The Hutts managed to keep it… more or less safe, and living was cheap. She’d be able to find some peace and quiet to work. 

But then again, if she stayed sedentary, there was no way word wouldn’t get out about her location. To keep her moving was the smartest choice. The trick was convincing her. 

When they dropped out of hyperdrive, the dry surface of Tatooine beamed light into the ship. He took a deep breath, a deep breath. The last few days had been a neverending struggle of skirting around each other in the close quarters of the ship. Cara had sat and ruthlessly disassembled then cleaned her blasters, and Atin had disassembled and cleaned the interior of the Razor Crest. He hadn’t been in a place this clean since the dormitories in his youth, scrubbed to within an inch of their life. The only place she had avoided was the actual bed. 

They slept in shifts, Cara throwing herself into the backseat in the cockpit, and Atin curling up with the child in the bed, and once they’d woken up, he’d take a turn, closing the door and falling asleep with his armor intact. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, far from it. He just knew emergencies happened. 

He would hear Atin and Cara talking quietly. 

_ “Can a non-mandalorian learn Mando’a?” _

_ “Sure! Here’s your first word--aruetii.” _

_ “Aru-e-tii. What’s that?” _

_ “A non-Mando. An outsider.” _

_ “And what’s your word for yourselves?” _

_ “Mando’ade, singular ‘mando’ad’. Child of Mandalore.” _

_ “He said your name was Mando’a. What does it mean?”  _

_ “Stubborn.”  _

The child rubbed his eyes, then looked at Din. He held up his arms, and Din smiled under his helmet. He picked up the child, and the two went to the bed compartment together. Once the door was closed, and he’d put the lock combination in, he took off his helmet, and his cuirass, setting them gently aside in the cabinet. 

The child snuggled down into Din’s chest, and the two of them drifted off to sleep. He felt, for once, at peace. 

When Din woke up, his instincts screamed that something was wrong. He could feel it like a migraine, the hair on the back of his neck rising. 

The child was gone. 

His armor was gone. 

He nearly couldn’t breathe, his heart pounding so hard it was beating his lungs to death. Panic was buzzing in his blood, and he struggled to keep it in check. The ringing in his ears, normally ignorable, was a constant scream. His shaking fingers keyed in the code to unlock the door. 

If someone had stolen his armor, that likely meant Atin and Cara were dead. They would never have allowed this to happen, and would have known to shoot him if his face had been seen, for how could he live on in the only life he’d ever known, the only life he wanted, if an enemy had seen his face? Breathing grew harder, panic switching with… no. No. He could not lose focus. He could not afford to do so. He was a Mandalorian. 

When the door opened, he paused before climbing out. There was… nothing. Nothing but trees, and a lush but cool forest. The air smelled clean, and crisp, and faintly of a healthy kind of decay, the natural smell of plants living their life cycles undisturbed. The wind in the trees, interrupted by the distant echo of blaster fire, filled the small compartment. 

He honed his senses on the area around him. When he looked up into the trees, he saw… a nest. Not the nest of a bird, but the nest of a sniper. The sniper wore armor painted a rich, deep blue. She was slim, with a very large disruptor rifle cradled in her arms. She was trained on a target he couldn’t see from his vantage, but it wasn’t him. 

She was deadly still as he decided whether or not to pursue, but when she moved, she did so quickly and efficiently. She straightened out, and reclipped the rifle’s strap around her body and slung it across her back. As she did, the hood over her helmet slipped off, and the profile of her helmet seemed familiar.

“Copy that, Saber, heading to checkpoint.” 

She carefully climbed down the tree. He was stunned to see that she was wearing Mandalorian armor. The cuirass looked to be beskar, but all the other pieces were plain durasteel. Her helmet had jaig painted on it. She looked around, and he heard her speak. 

“Wraithe Crew!” she called. There was something about her voice--maybe it was the accent? 

More snipers materialized, and he realized he was just about hopelessly outnumbered. He reached for his vibroknife, still tucked into his boot. The Mandalorian sniper lifted her hand to her helmet, pressed the release and lifted it off, and suddenly, Din realized that something very, very odd was going on. 

“Atin?” he muttered. 

She was sylphlike and strong, and about five years younger. Her voice was a little… lighter, somehow. Maybe age had deepened it. Or grief. This was Endor. His armor hadn’t been stolen, he wasn’t compromised--he was dreaming. She had this grin on her face, this look that said she was going places. There was a reddish cast to her tied-back hair that she no longer had in his time. She was all fire and youth. 

“Hey, boss!” 

She looked over--through him, like he wasn’t there. A cold shudder shook him, and someone… walked right through his body. 

“What is it, Hakon?” 

Hakon was a greenish twi’lek with tattooed lekku and a shitty attitude. Despite that, he seemed to carry a lot of respect for Atin. 

“Permission to speak?” 

Atin hooked her helmet on her belt, and nodded. “Of course.” 

“To speak  _ freely _ , Atin?” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Uh oh. What’d I do?” she asked with a grin. 

“I didn’t know you’d be using a  _ disruptor  _ rifle,” he said sternly. 

Atin sighed. “Hakon, this is not the time, we’ve got to move,” she said, slipping past the twi’lek and marching with the rest of the unit following her. 

“They’re illegal for a reason--”

“I got special permission from top command.” 

“How special?” asked someone else, and there was a snicker. Apparently, even now, Atin must’ve already earned her reputation as a flirt. 

She turned red, and said, “Not that kind of special. I’m a  _ Mandalorian.  _ I know how to handle a weapon like this.” 

Din followed them as they slipped nearly silently through the forest, with the aside of their voices. 

“If I have to shoot more than once, our position is at risk. Same for all of us.”

“So why are you the only one with a one-shot rifle?” 

“You want to have to load every shot?” she asked, gesturing at him in that way she still did, with one hand on her hip. By the stars, she was so  _ young.  _

The twi’lek was silent. 

“I didn’t think so,” she said. “Hakon, I value your input, you know I do--”

“Atin, those people are dying in agony!” 

“They’re dying quickly, in relative silence, and without a headshot. You have a problem, you take it up with my commander. I’ve been doing this since I was in diapers, Hakon.” 

“Then you’re as bad as they are.” 

Atin paused. She was about to argue, when she said, “We have orders. If you want a minute to eat and rest, we need to get moving. Imps will be on their way soon.”

Din quirked an eyebrow and smiled. He followed wraith crew to their rendezvous, a small village that had been evacuated. The quiet signs of life were long gone, it had probably been empty for a while. While everyone went about their business, Atin found a quiet place to hide out. He followed her. 

She put her helmet on, and sat at a low table. She pulled a holonet transceiver from her pack and set it on the table, pressing the button. A woman in a Nite Owls helmet appeared. 

_ “Atin. Jorhaa'ir akaan.” _

_ “Mand’alor. I have received no updates from command, only orders. So, I’m assuming well.”  _

_ “Good. Your team is solid?”  _

_ “Yes, Alor.”  _

The woman in the holo took off her helmet.  _ “Alright, now tell me how you really feel,” _ she said with a grin. She was a slender woman with short hair and a very familiar glint in her eye. 

“ _ Wayii!”  _ Atin sighed as she took off her own helmet. “Mom, I cannot believe these people,” she went on, rubbing her eyes and setting her helmet on the table. “If I have to explain to Hakon  _ one more time  _ why I am carrying a disruptor rifle, I’m going to scream and blow our cover.” 

Din realized he was looking at Bo-katan Kryze. 

_ “Have you considered shooting him with it? It would be a very effective demonstration.”  _

“Shooting a man under my command seems like a poor example of effective leadership.” 

Bo-katan laughed, but grew serious.  _ “Atin. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. It’s a weapon with a complicated history.” _

“No. I understand my use of it is a fraught decision, but it’s a decision I’m willing to defend. If only I can figure out how to defend it… It’s the most effective weapon I could be using. The rest of the team is using rifles that need multiple shots to work, or a headshot, and both of those are difficult enough without the chance that your target lives and sends a distress signal.”

Bo-katan nodded. 

Atin leaned against her knees., and sighed. A minute passed. Atin's eyebrows furrowed. She looked down, like she was listening to something far away. “Mom… is everything okay?” 

_ “What do you mean?”  _

“I… I have this… feeling. Something bad is coming. I’m not sure if it’s for you or for me, but…”

_ “Is this a Force thing?”  _

“Yes… I think.” 

_ “Do… do you want me to see if your father will-” _

“No. N’haran! N’draar. No.” 

_ “Atin’la… he can help you with this more than I can.”  _

“Yeah, well, he’s made his point abundantly clear. I’m not interested in more reasons why I should ditch the Rebellion in order to appease his ridiculous sense of neutrality.” 

Bo-katan nodded and rolled her eyes.  _ “I know. I know. He doesn’t get it. And he might never get it. But he loves you. He misses you.”  _

“That is not accurate.”

Bo-katan snorted.  _ “He’s as stubborn as you. But he can help. It can be used in battle.” _

In the background of the holo, there was a rattling. Bo-katan looked around, standing up. Atin’s spine went straight. “Mom?” 

_ “Shh.” _

In the background, the sound of a TIE fighter could be heard roaring overhead. Bo-katan sprang to action. 

“I’m coming for you,” Atin said, standing up and about to snatch the transceiver when Bo-katan reappeared with twin pistols. 

_ “Don’t you dare! Atin, you stay at your post and follow through on your orders. You made a commitment! You are not to leave it until otherwise ordered, do you understand me?”  _

“But Mom--”

_ “Do you understand!?”  _

Atin watched as dust began to fall in the holo. 

“Y-yes.” 

The holo ended, and Atin fell back to her seat. She had her hands over her mouth. Sucking in a huge breath, she held it for a long minute. Once she set her hands down, they were in fists. 

“I am fine. I can handle this. I am a Mandalorian. We endure.” 

Din felt his heart breaking a little. A lot. She couldn’t have been more than… well, if she was in her mid, maybe late 20s now, then she was barely into her 20s in this dream. She leaned into her hands. Then, suddenly, something changed. He watched as she sat straight up, rifle-straight, her hair standing on end. She gasped, as if she’d been shot. 

“No…” she mumbled. 

There were steps outside. He wanted to interfere, and he almost stepped forward to do so, but he couldn’t. Hakon came in. 

“Atin, what happened? I heard--”

Atin was breathing hard, heaving breaths that ripped out of her. “I don’t, I don’t know, I don’t--something is happening to my mom--”

“Do you need to--”

“She ordered me to stay!” Atin snapped, standing up. She began to pace. “I can’t… I can’t disobey her orders, but I can’t… I  _ feel _ something going wrong, something going so wrong.”

Atin was sobbing. Hakon walked up to her, touching her arm. “Hey, hey, I’m here. I’m here. Listen, tell me five things you can hear.” 

She breathed, calming her breath. Her tears were breaking Din up. 

“I… I hear… the wind. And the trees. And… Bulk and Sarge arguing over a ration bar. I hear you breathing. I hear… blaster fire.” 

“And four things you can touch. Here, I’ll help.” 

He took her hands and pressed them against her beskar chestplate. “That, what’s that?”

“Beskar,” Atin said quietly. “It’s my beskar.” 

“Good. Let it do its job. Let it protect you. Three more things.” 

“You. The table. The floor.” 

“And three things you can smell.” 

“The forest. Blaster discharge. You.”

“And two things you can see.” 

“You. The house.” 

“And one thing you can taste.” 

Atin was quiet for a minute, before she said, “Dust.” 

  
  


Din followed Atin through the battle. It was crazy to see Endor as it happened. He even thought he might have seen Cara once or twice, though that was probably just optimism, which he knew better than to have. The battlestation was destroyed. The rebels won out. Everyone knew how this went, and he knew it too. Atin performed beautifully through the battle, with almost no indication of the turmoil that was inside her. 

The day after the battle, she was waiting on orders to be allowed to return to wherever Bo-katan had been. If she went, could he go? 

It was while she was waiting, while everyone was outside partying and celebrating, that he knew things were about to go very, very badly. A small posse of Mandalorians in full armor appeared out of the woods and were directed for the hut where Atin was waiting with a drink and a couple of the other members of Wraith Crew. 

When they walked in, his hands went ice cold. He knew what he was about to see, and it turned his stomach. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to feel, to see the most humiliating moment of Atin’s life unfold. But when he turned to leave, it was like the scene followed him. 

“Atin!” 

Atin turned in her seat, and stood up. “Cache! I’ve been waiting for orders, where’s mom?” 

Cache landed a punch square in Atin’s gut and knocked the wind out of her. “Hey!” shouted the Hakon guy, and Bulk, a human who had to have been named sarcastically. 

Atin fell to the floor, struggling to catch her breath. 

“You stay out of this,  _ aruetii,  _ or we’ll put you out of it.”

“I-I… I don’t… I don’t understand,” gasped Atin. “What… what did-”

“You abandoned us.” 

Atin’s head whipped up. “No! No, I had orders, Mom told me to stay--”

“Take her beskar.” 

Terror ripped through Atin, and it pinned Din’s stare on her. He sank to his knee as he watched them cut through the flak jacket and take the beskar cuirass and Atin’s helmet. She tried to stand up, tried to fight, but they pinned down her right vambrace and she was tired from the fight. 

“Atin Silva, from this day forward, you are  _ dar’manda.  _ You have SHAMED your house, your mother, your clan. You have shamed your covert. You put these  _ aruetiise _ above your people!” 

“The mand’alor told me to stay here!” Atin begged. “Cache, please, don’t do this to me. I didn’t do anything wrong!” 

“You left!”

“To fight for our people--”

“You left to fight in a war for someone other than your mand’alor. You should have died with her.”

Din had never been more grateful for a life Atin had taken. He should have let her snipe him out, let her destroy him with his rifle, and if Cache Saxon hadn’t been dead off on some backwater skug hole, he would have gone and killed him himself. They punched the visor out of her helmet, and left. There was a ruckus outside, people noticing the Mandalorians for the first time, and someone came in to try and check on Atin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Mandalorian this chapter, so I'm  
> N'harar = hell no.  
> N'draar - Not Never. Mandos love double negatives.  
> Wayii - Good Grief!  
> Jorhaa'ir akaan - I couldn't find a word for "report" or "news" so I put the words for "speak" and "battle" together.


	7. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din faces Atin after the shocking vision of last chapter, and the gang arrives in Mos Eisley...

When Din woke with a start, he looked around. Everything was in its place. The child was awake and looking up at him with his ears pert and perky. The compartment was quiet. The smell of recycled, cool air rather than the forest. Din stared at him for a minute, then said, “That was… not great, kid. Does she know you did that?” 

“Absbbuubh.” 

“Right.” 

He pulled on his cuirass, adjusted the tightness, and pulled his helmet back on.  _ “If she yells at at me, I’m not giving you the ball for a week. Deal?”  _

“Abdabdhuh.” 

He opened the door of the compartment, and found her sitting on the bench. 

Atin’s legs were crossed, and her spine was rifle-straight. Her hands were on her knees. Though her eyes were closed, she still seemed very alert. He’d seen this before, somewhere--a few somewheres, actually. Meditation for those who walked the Way of the Mandalore was done with a weapon in your hand, coasting towards exhaustion, fighting your way into a different state of consciousness. 

Atin opened her eyes just a little. When she turned to look at him, guilt struck him, but so did something else--something raw and primal that roared up in his gut like it was going to eat him alive. It put a tremble in his hands and a fluttering feeling inside him. He was hot all over. The armored sniper in beskar and daring politician combined in his head, and he was very, very much struggling to keep his hands to himself. 

“Interesting trip?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t decipher her expression. 

_ “You could say that.” _

“I had forgotten how good I looked in that armor,” she said halfheartedly. “Though, I think I’d go in for a more interesting paint job these days.”

_ “Which one of you two was that?”  _

“He started it, and I knew I couldn’t stop him--he’s more powerful than I am by a longshot, so I let you two in.”

Guilt tore at the Mandalorian. He stared at her, uncertain of how to proceed. She was vulnerable. How was he supposed to answer that? She stood up, touched the tip of his gloved fingers lightly, and walked deeper into the ship. 

_ “Hey, lovebirds! Tatooine’s in sight!” _ Cara called from the cockpit. “We’ve got coordinates for a hangar bay!” 

The heat of her touch lingered on his skin and under his glove, and he stretched his hand as he walked towards the ladder. 

“Hangar three-five.”

Din sighed. 

_ “Give Atin the rifle, and you grab what you want. Tell her to sight it in for herself. I don’t want to go into Mos Eisley unprepared.” _

He second-guessed, then shut himself down. Atin was comfortable with the weapon. He didn’t need to examine that. He did not need to think about it, it was  _ fine.  _

Once they’d landed in the hangar bay, the surly mechanic appeared with her wild cloud of angry brown hair. She had her little scanner gun, but when Atin and Cara disembarked, her expression changed, dark eyes going wide. 

“Where’d you find  _ that  _ one?” she asked, pointing at Atin, who was wearing the only floral patterned garment he had ever seen in the Outer Rim. He turned and looked at her, then turned back to Peli Motto. 

_ “I tried to tell her the scarf was a bad idea.”  _

“Isn’t that the lady from the holonet? The duchess? You went clear into the Core to go pick her up?” 

Din nodded as he looked at his little… group. Cara was watching with hesitation as Atin expertly tied the baby to her back with yet another scarf. Did she just keep a supply of those? _ “Yes. She’s Mandalorian, and this is the Way. And I don’t want it getting out that she’s here.”  _

“Bet that was spendy in the fuelport,” Motto said, grimacing as if she wasn’t thrilled to fill the tank. 

Atin tossed her a credit stick, and said, “Fill the tank and do whatever else that will cover,” before walking out of the hangar and out onto the Mos Eisley streets. Peli raised her almost-invisible eyebrows, and polished the stick a little to make sure she was reading it correctly. Cara followed her, probably to keep her out of trouble.

Peli crossed her arms, and looked at the Mandalorian. She said, “Heads up. Things got real bad over the last couple days.”

_ “What kind of bad?”  _

“Imperial bad.” 

_ “Imps? In Mos Eisley?”  _

“Yeah, some scruffy warlord trying to irritate the Hutts, I guess. He’s been bad for business. I don’t suppose you could make that gone? I could probably throw in a little optimization on your hyperdrive if I weren’t so stressed on account of the stormtroopers.” 

_ “I’ll see what I can do,”  _ he promised.  _ “And… I think she took the baby. I don’t know if--” _

“I also will want to see the little guy before you go.” 

_ “Deal.” _

Peli nodded, the two of them shook hands, and Din turned to follow his badly-behaved crew. Out on the street, he could see what Peli Motto had meant by “real bad.” Imps were  _ everywhere.  _ The place was crawling with them. They were milling around in groups of two or three, their white armor made dirty by the sand. 

And two were holding Atin and Cara up. Atin was holding Cara’s wrist, and both looked ready to kill. He joined them, his hand itching for the cold handle of his blaster. 

_ “Let me see some identification,”  _ ordered a trooper. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Atin said, lifting her hand. Her voice was trembling. There was the strangest moment where he swore, the stormtroopers went a little… slack. “But we’re in a hurry.” 

_ “I don’t care if you’re in a hurry, ID chips  _ now.  _ What is your name?”  _

“Djarin,” Atin said quickly. Cara’s eyes went wide, and she struggled not to smirk. Din looked at her, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Silva Djarin. This is my wife… Amban. And our droid, DD-44.” 

She held her hand up a little higher and gestured slowly across the trooper’s field of vision. “We’re just looking for a patch of land to raise our weird green son. You don’t need our IDs, you’re happy to let us get on with our day.” 

A heartbeat passed. Then two. They were endless seconds. 

_ “We don’t need to see your IDs. What a handsome young man,”  _ the stormtrooper added to the child, who was incredibly confused.  _ “You ladies should get inside soon. Not safe to be out after the suns set. Have a nice day.”  _

“You as well, officer,” Atin said, giving him a serene nod. 

Atin turned and walked on, with Cara following her. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her walking had gotten a lot slower. 

_ “What did you do?”  _ the Mandalorian asked. 

“Please, get me to the cantina, and sit me down,” she said, her voice coarse and weary. She was pale. Like the child, she must have also been exerted when she used the Force in these kinds of ways. 

He hooked his left arm on her right, so that as they walked, she could lean against him with his blaster free. 

_ “Move along, bounty hunter,”  _ was said by someone behind them. Din ignored it. Even on Tatooine, people didn’t like bounty hunters. He heard quiet chatter, a street in fear. That was pretty typical of anywhere the Imperials arrived. But in the relative silence, he heard another sound. 

_ Ching. Ching. Ching.  _

It was getting closer, catching up with them. Din did not look, but Cara did, and came up closer behind Atin to protect the child. Someone was looking for a fight and they were going to get one. 

_ “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you around here again,”  _ came the vocoded voice as it came up on Atin’s left. Cara drew her blaster, but froze. The man in the green armor said,  _ “Don’t shoot, I know her.”  _

_ “That’s why we’re thinking about shooting you.”  _

“Don’t shoot him,” Atin said wearily. “If anyone gets to shoot him, it’s  _ me. _ ” 

Din looked down at her, and then paused, stopping in the street. He couldn’t help it. The man beside them was in Mandalorian armor, bristling with obvious weaponry. He knew him well, at least by reputation. 

_ “Move on, Fett,”  _ he said. 

_ “I don’t think so, Mandalorian,”  _ said Boba Fett, holstering his carbine.  _ “You’ve got a very tired lady on your arm, and I’m sure you were all thinking you’d just happily walk into the cantina and have a drink, but that place is on lockdown with Imps who would love nothing more than to bring that little green asset and that pretty little duchess to their warlord boss.”  _

Atin leaned more heavily into Din’s arm as she looked at Fett. She bristled with anger. “And why the hell should I think you any different than them, Boba?” she snarled. “Don’t forget who in this town ditched me on a jawa junk float.” 

_ “Weird, did you know that when you talk, it sounds exactly like credit sticks clanking around? Not sure if you’re aware, but you’re already the hottest quarry in the Outer Rim. I’ve been offered… well, even I blushed at how much people are willing to pay for your head.”  _

“And did you take the job?” 

_ “You really think so little of me?”  _

Din’s hand hovered over his blaster. He knew he could not beat Fett in an out-and-out firefight. Atin gripped the sleeve of Din’s shirt, and looked up into his visor. She was so weary, but she took a breath, stood up straight, and looked at Fett. 

“Can you get us somewhere safe?” she asked.

_ “Safer than a cantina crawling with Imps? Easily.”  _

Atin looked at Din. He knew what she was about to say, but that didn’t make it easier to hear it when she said, “I say we go with him.” 

Din gritted his teeth. He looked at the bounty hunter, his alarm bells ringing loudly enough to be heard on the other side of the galaxy. He had heard the stories of this man, his ruthlessness, his efficiency, and his willingness to work for anyone who paid a high enough price. Atin’s hand on his chestplate drew his attention--and Fett’s. He could see the man’s eyes drag down Atin’s figure, her figure-fitting shirt, her black trousers, her mid-calf boots, and the lack of armor she wore over any of it. 

“Mando, I know you don’t have a reason to trust him, but I do. With my life. Not much else, but he will at least keep that much intact. If he says he has a safe place to go, it’s a good bet he does.” 

_ “How do you know he’s not leading us straight into a den of them?”  _

Atin let out a deep, humiliated, resigned sigh. She put her hand on her lowered face, shame weighing her down. “I know him. _ Intimately. _ ” 


	8. Disrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fett draws eyes, and blaster fire, onto the crew of the Razor Crest...

Atin was growing wearier by the second. Boba Fett walked closer to them, sizing Mando and Cara up and taking a better look at the bundle on Atin’s back. The child’s head tilted, his large ears perked and curious. Fett’s head tipped as well. Atin turned away, blocking the child with her own body. Fett chuckled. Din’s fist clenched, then relaxed. 

_ “Look, as much as I’d love to stand here all day, we’re starting to draw some--”  _ began Fett. 

_ “Hey, you lot!”  _

_ “--Attention,”  _ he sighed. 

Their heads all turned. Another group of stormtroopers was walking towards them. Too many armed people in a group was making them skittish, and Boba Fett’s reputation alone was stressful for a few guys wearing flimsy armor that could be broken with a good punch. 

_ “Problem, gentlemen?”  _ asked Fett, stepping slowly in front of Atin in a way that looked, on the outside, confrontational rather than defensive. Atin’s hand went to her blaster. Cara was close by. 

_ “Fett. You were told to move along from Mos Eisley days ago,” _ the trooper said, cradling his gun like it was going to save him from two Mandalorians and a woman the size of a wookie. Atin’s lack of armor felt  _ staggering,  _ like a sore spot that wouldn’t go away. 

_ “Strange. I don’t remember that,”  _ said the bounty hunter.  _ “However, I do remember telling you lot that I wasn’t going to play nice next time you were rude to me.”  _

_ “Let me see some identification for the three of you,”  _ said the stormtrooper, his subordinates looking a little antsy. 

Mando turned and looked at Atin.  _ “I don’t suppose you’ve got another one of those mind tricks in you?”  _

“It’s a miracle I could do the one,” she said, one hand on the clasp of the rifle’s shoulder strap. She was still pale, though he could see that she was ready to fight. 

Fett raised his carbine.  _ “Listen, mate, I really don’t want to have to do this, but I’m just passing through with my friends. We aren’t causing any trouble, but if you don’t go on your way, I could be.”  _

_ “Take the child and go,”  _ he said. _ “Cara, cover her.”  _

The stormtroopers turned the safeties off on their weapons. Mando drew his own blaster, fight response flooding his system. This time it was going to end in a fight for sure. He and Fett glanced at one another, and there was an unspoken understanding. 

Atin and Cara ducked out of the way, and Fett shot first, downing two troopers instantly and sending the rest scattering. They had started to lose their training, and Mando was grateful for that much at least. Today was turning into a real skughole of a day. 

Cara and Atin were nowhere in Mando’s area, and they had probably run off to find better cover than the random crates and vehicles in the immediate area. Dust kicked up by wind and blaster bolts was making it hard to see, and there was a very real, immediate sense that if they did not get out of town  _ now,  _ something really, really bad would happen. 

Mando and Fett picked stormtroopers off as they also headed for cover. 

_ “She still know how to use that kinda rifle?”  _ Fett asked him. His accent was annoying. 

There was a bang, and then a stormtrooper dissolved into a pile of armor and a shower of sparks blowing away in the wind. There was a long moment of silence, and then the stormtroopers doubled down, looking for cover. 

_ “Yeah,”  _ Mando answered, unable to hide a note of… what, pride? Even he wasn’t sure what that was, but it felt good. 

There were too many stormtroopers to count, but they probably had to protect their numbers. They weren’t as ballsy as stormtroopers usually were, weren’t as willing to sacrifice each other. Mando went over what he knew of Mos Eisley in his head, and looked around for exits that would get them all out of this alive. There weren’t many. The buildings in this part of town were packed in pretty tight. 

_ “I’ve got an idea!”  _ called Fett.  _ “Do they have a commlink?”  _

Mando grabbed his out of his belt, and called to Cara.  _ “Can you hear me?”  _

_ “Yeah, Atin’s sniping and I’ve got the kid. He keeps trying to watch!”  _

Atin must have taken the commlink, because it was her voice he heard next.  _ “Mando, tell Boba that I want him to cover Cara and get her and the baby to the hangar. I want you with him. I’ll cover you guys from above and meet you there.”  _

_ “No! We shoot our way out together!” _

_ “What’s she saying?”  _ Fett asked. 

_ “She wants us to get out and cover us from above!” _

Fett stood and fired into the group of stormtroopers, taking a few out as reinforcements appeared from two alleys.  _ “I vote yes.”  _

The Mandalorian sighed heavily. 

The two of them headed off towards an alley where Din had a strong feeling that Cara and Atin were. Sure enough, Atin had thrown her scarf over the child’s head and was taking aim over a crate, loading and firing carefully. Cara was right beside her, firing into the group of troopers, but it was starting to look like her blaster was running out of gas, and Atin was running out of slugs. The world started to turn a little, get so noisy that it became quiet. 

And then it all got very confusing very quickly. More stormtroopers than his helmet could track appeared as if from thin air. Fett was walking up to Atin, shooting nearly blind into the wall of troopers, and then Atin was shouting at Fett, desperation on her face, and fear, and Fett was hit, and Atin was running away, and Din knew he had to follow--

And then Atin was on the ground--

And Fett was getting piled on by stormtroopers--

Cara had the baby, and she kept running, heading in the direction of the hangar bay. She was shouting, and without hearing her, Mando knew that he had to grab Atin, that it was too late to grab Fett--

The Mos Eisley dust settled as Mando put Atin’s arm over his shoulders, and they ran off. The stormtroopers did not follow them. Cara had run ahead with the baby to warn Peli and get the  _ Crest  _ fired up. The sound came back to the world slowly, and it was on the  _ Crest  _ that Din realized the extent to which Atin had been injured. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst, if you were to leave me a note on my characterization of Din... well, I wouldn't be mad... Feel like I've gotten a little too OOC lately with him.


	9. Distraught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of many serious conversations the Mandalorian and Duchess must have...

He set her on the catwalk, and she laid on the metal grates, curling into herself. She was trying to breathe through the pain, trying to stay calm, but she’d been hit badly and was losing blood, turning pale and green. Her teeth were gritted tight against the pain sounds. 

Cara was piloting out of the hangar, the child fussing in the cockpit with her. 

Din was opening the medpac as Cara called down. “Where can we--”

_ “Medcenter!”  _ Din called up the ladder. “ _ Atin’s hit!”  _

“Hit where!?”

_ “Kidney!”  _

Cara swore  _ loudly,  _ and said, “You know what to do?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself not to lose his temper. He forced his hands to stay steady as he tore open the burnt fabric of her shirt, exposing the full extent of the damage. Angry red surrounded the wound. The blaster that had been used had been losing charge, and it had been a glancing blow, and she might--might--be okay. If they could get to a medcenter--

“Nearest medcenter is in Anchorhead! We can be there in 30 minutes, you just have to keep her stable,” called Cara as she set a course. He felt her push the  _ Razor Crest  _ hard, the speed more than the old girl was used to in an atmosphere, especially an atmosphere full of sand and grit. Keep her stable. He could do that. He could keep her stable. 

She was struggling to catch a breath, her ribcage probably hurt like hell. The helmet protected him from himself. He was Mandalorian. He was not Din Djarin. The Mandalorian knew how to treat a blaster wound. Atin was any other Mandalorian. Though he could see her face, it did not make her less Mandalorian. He pulled out the bacta salve he kept in the medpac, the one he saved for the very, very worst of injuries because of the cost. He took off the glove on his right hand and applied it thickly over the site, then taped a large gauze square over it. If nothing else, it seemed to ease the pain enough for her to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry--”

_ “We shouldn’t have come here.”  _

Atin’s eyes were full of tears. 

“I know--”

_ “Save your energy.”  _

He’d never come so close to losing his temper this way. While Atin was bleeding some, and the bacta appeared to help, almost all of the injury was internal. It was gruesome, and it hurt to look at. It made his own skin ache. 

“Where’s Boba?” 

_ “Captured, _ ” he grunted out. 

“The baby?” 

_ “With Cara.”  _

Atin struggled to take breaths that were deep enough to keep her conscious. “Din--”

_ “Rest.” _

“Please… let me see your face. I wouldn’t ask, but… well--”

She was scared. She was pale, and so, so small, coiled on the metal catwalk of the Razor Crest like injured quarry, with guilt knotting her eyebrows together and sparkling her eyes. He thought about it. Let her see the anger, the hurt, the bitter wound he knew he couldn’t hide, the things he felt. But instead, he told her no. He didn’t want her to know. 

_ “We’re taking you to a medcenter, and then we are getting the hell off this--” _

“I’m going back for Boba,” she said hoarsely.

Okay, he did take off the helmet. “You’re kidding,” he snapped. “You can’t be--”

“I owe him--”

Din set his helmet aside, took off his glove, and rubbed his face angrily, paying special attention to his exhausted eyes. He heaved a giant sigh, his entire body rising and falling with it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and waited until he could control himself before opening his eyes again and looking at her. 

Atin was looking at him. 

“You’re angry with me.”

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry, love, I--” she began, before she winced again, curling tighter into herself. Blood blossomed over the gauze. She’d upset herself, the adrenaline getting her heart rate pumping again, making the bleeding worse. Din pressed his knuckles to his mouth, trying to keep calm. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come with you. Should’ve… should’ve stayed on Hosnian--”

Din stopped her. “You would have been killed.” 

She weakly gestured to her wound. “Maybe my lucky streak’s run out.” 

“We’re getting you some good armor when all this is done.” 

The ship began to lose altitude. Cara called, “Approaching Anchorhead!” 

He picked up his helmet, but Atin reached out, snatched his wrist. To see her this way was difficult, he couldn’t bear it. It was almost as hard as seeing the pile of armor in the covert’s hiding place, harder than walking away from the Armorer knowing she may not make it out. 

“Boba… is the father of my son… and he doesn’t know. If I don’t… I need you to tell him.” 

Din was getting very sick of making promises. 

He could hear Cara on the comm, probably talking to the medics. Her voice was crisp and clear. She was good for that. The child was babbling, there was a thump as he dropped the lever-end and it rolled across the cockpit. 

“Don’t make me do this,” he said, and he felt himself slipping. Atin’s head was laying on the catwalk, and her breathing was slow. She was drifting in and out of consciousness. 

“Trying not to,” she mumbled with a smile. “I’ve been out of balance… For a really long time… and I think… he’s gotta know.” 

“So you can be in balance?” Din clarified. 

Atin nodded. 

Cara called down. “I alerted the medcenter and called the hangar! The hangar is next door, they are sending help. She hanging in there?” 

“Yeah,” he called back. 

Din picked up his helmet. He wished he still had his mythosaur talisman, but it was around the child’s neck now. Instead, he touched the mudhorn signet on his pauldron, and sighed. Strength. The strength of the mudhorn. The strength to protect what was his, to defend his clan, their honor, their wishes. 

“Where should your ashes go?” he asked, though the idea that he’d need to… it made him sick, but he needed to know. He needed to plan. 

“Your artificer’s forge,” she mumbled. “I want… I want to be with my people.”

Din nodded. “I understand.” 

She reached out, snatched his hand. Her eyes were clear, even through the pain. “Din Djarin, you are loved.”

Her words were like a blaster bolt through him. He was still, and silent. 

He stood up, put his helmet back on, and pressed the button that would open the hatch. White-clad medics were there, waiting. “Hey, you guys the one with the patient?”

He nodded. “She’s here--”

They boarded with a hover between them. Grabbing a sheet off of it, he watched carefully as they laid it out next to Atin, spoke softly to her, and rolled her onto it. She winced, cried out a little. They used it to lift her into the hover, and then pushed it to the medcenter. Cara appeared with the child in her arms, and Din took him from her. The child snuggled close in the small space between Din’s breastplate and his arm, seeking warmth, comfort. Din wished he could give it better, but he petted the child’s head anyway, just to try. Strength. Have strength. 

“You okay?” Cara asked him. 

_ “I’ll be fine.”  _

She stopped him before he walked off, her hand on his arm. “Hey. Din.” 

He paused, looked at her. 

Cara had her eyebrow raised. “Not to get too involved in your Mandalorian business, but I think you need to have a serious discussion with her.” 

_ “If she lives, I’ll get around to it.”  _

Well, she was going to live. The bacta paste had done the job. They had her submerged in a bacta tank for a day, which made her wince when she considered the bill. Din didn’t care to spend too much time there with her. It was a bacta tank, after all, and… well. There was a modesty gown, but it clung very, very closely to her skin, and the white cloth seemed much more revealing than any of the other form-fitting clothes Atin wore, and... he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

In the meantime, he kept his ear to the ground for rumors about Fett. Word had it he’d been taken to the Hutt fortress, little more than a pleasure palace for demented gangsters. The more he learned, the more confusing the situation became. 

Apparently, Rotta the Hutt, who’d taken the syndicate after his father’s murder, had been convinced by some Imp warlord that working together would be of their mutual benefit, but the warlord was growing greedy and shifty, beginning his hostile takeover of the planet with Mos Eisley. 

Din had never known a Hutt to be okay with sharing their turf. 

The child was eager to stretch his legs, but Din didn’t let him leave the confines of the ship. Too dangerous, with too many imps in town. It was on one of Cara’s runs to the cantina that Atin came home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that the medical care is ridiculous in this chapter lmfaoooo 
> 
> I'm not actually totally sure how many chapters this thing will have, 12 is a rough estimate. I'm trying to get this wrapped up so I can move on to Boba Fett lmao

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I'm back and tbh i'm just running with this shit now because I love it and need a little escapism about my politically influential hot OC who has a whole ass sex machine obsessed with her bye


End file.
